Yep. You guessed it. My blogging capabilities are still limited to posts with no working links. Awesome, right?
Whatever.

(Feel free to add the Valley Girl twang. I know I did in my head.)

So in case you were wondering, I am not dead in a ditch somewhere. But thanks for caring. Really, it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

A good twitter friend is planning on helping me get things up and running properly on Sunday, so I can finally get back to dazzling the world with my as-of-yet-undiscovered literary wit and perhaps woo my dream agent into selling the hell out of my don't-call-it-a-memoir work in progress to a fantastically huge publishing house for a sick amount of money and a pinch-me-so-i-know-it's-real advance.

For now, I'll settle for my record bout of insomnia (I've been up since 7:30 a.m. on Thursday morning after four hours of sleep) waiting ever so patiently for Monday morning so I can get blood drawn to figure out if my thyroid, insulin, or that other thing are out of whack and causing said insomnia ('cuz, for the record, I like to sleep). And of course there's packing for that trip to Michigan I have to take in a week that is definitely NOT a vacation and only adding stress to the aforementioned trouble catching my precious zzzz's.

I know you miss me and my drama. Hell, I miss writing about me and my drama. And my writing. And the reasons one should not blog after being awake for so long that one has now lost track of how many hours it's been since one actually slept, solely based on the fact that slap-happy probably does not translate very well into blogger-eez.

So on that note, I'm off to pass out. Hopefully I'll wake up in time to become famous again on Sunday.

And don't worry...Cat (the Rottie), and Finnigan (her 17-pound Terrier master) will be sure to share their kibble with Buttercup while I sleep. It's gluten-free and tastes like chicken, so my little Celiac Princess will be safe and sound. After all, she knows how to lock up.